Children of Prophecies
by Ouroboros Maelstrom
Summary: Being reincarnated is nothing like the stories, essential parts of one are left behind when crossing the veil. Watching his mother getting raped and killed at age 2 did nothing to help matter, so when a 'slightly' unhinged and DARK Naruto learns about another Child of Prophecy on the same path as him, he decides its time to rescue the boy and give Fate a middlefinger along the way.


**Let me go out of my way and say that I am sorry for any and all grammatical errors, you can happily nominate either yourself or someone else as a Beta reader.**

**Now, I know this it is going to be a bit hard for most of you to comprehend, but you see this wall of text beneath the Author Note? This is a Fan-Fiction, which means; Disclaimer: I am a Fan and not J. K. Rowling or Masashi Kishimoto and thus do not own Harry Potter, or Naruto, for that matter.**

**What this **_**also**_** means, is that things are going to be different. Now if you want to read the idiotic canon characters with their idiotic canon personality going through the same events as canon, then go read the motherfucking original. Please do not come crying to me because characters are too Out of Character (OOC), simply because you are unable to accept that people can grow up with the circumstances instead of staying the same forever.**

**Now, with the obligatory disclaimer out of the way, let me just say that this story is just as much an adventure for me as it is for you; I know how this will end but that is it. So, I cannot really give you any idea of how the story will unfold except that Harry is **_**not**_** going to be sex doll and/or house elf shared by the entire magical Britain, figuratively speaking. So if you are into whiny, idiotic characters who gets used and abused by **_**everyone**_** and their dogs, then this fic **_**might**_** not be for you.**

**There is going to be a lot of emotional, and otherwise; growing up, so be aware the state of things will change quite frequently so an emo-Harry or Naruto could turn cheerful in one chapter, maybe even less, you've been warned.**

**I just have one warning for you, please DO NOT skip the author notes. I will not be sharing my life story here nor will I be wasting precious author note space by replying to guest reviewers, it will only contain information related to the story.**

**Oh right, one change to know before the start of the story: Albus Dumbledore is **_**not**_** the Supreme Mugwump, and there exists no organization that goes by the name of International Confederacy of Wizards (ICW), the reason for this…well, you will just have to find out in the story.**

**I do not know if there is going to be romance, but there is definitely going to be sex, not anytime soon though; I also do not know if it will be anything more than boring strictly heterosexual vanilla. Luckily for all you twelve-year-old prudes out there, I will leave warnings before and after any such scenes.**

**Just, read the chapter, read the author notes, and tell me what you think. If you enjoy something, tell me why so I can focus on it more, if you do not enjoy something, tell me why so I can get better.**

**Damnit, I forgot the most important part: Just put yourself in Harry's shoes and enjoy the story from there, because quite a lot of the things will not start making sense anytime soon.**

XXXX

Clouds rumbled ominously above him, darkening what was supposed to be a nice and warm, clear noon sky, that is of course, if sweltering heat of summer could be termed _nice_ or _warm_.

Harry was sitting on a stone chair, staring absentmindedly at the children playing around in the park, while adults either gossiped or just lazed around in the cool shade of the clouds. No one seemed worried about the forecasted rain, in fact most seemed to be waiting patiently for it.

Harry did not really get it, he would much rather take sweaty, sweltering heat over rain or cold any day of the year, something which had only gotten worse after spending ten months straight during last two years in Scotland, but he was not in the mood for staying cooped up inside the house.

It has been a week since Ron's _phone call_, and things have been silent since then and it did not look like they were going to get any better. After that disastrous call Harry did not receive any contact from any of his friends, he could understand it of course, Ron obviously realized that he had gotten Harry in trouble and was trying to not cause any more, but would it kill them to write even a single letter?

This summer was turning out to be even worse than the last one, at least the last time it was the work of a House Elf.

A tired sigh left Harry's lips, and he looked up at the exact time a drop of water fell from the rumbling sky and landed on his specs.

He wondered if he should go back, Aunt Petunia was definitely going to be angry at him for coming home all wet, but he simply could not muster the desire to get up.

A movement at the edge of his vision made Harry stare down from the sky and see a most peculiar person walking towards him.

The boy who seemed to be the same age as him, though not as scrawny; had the reddest hair that he had ever seen, and considering the numerous Weasleys, he had in fact seen a lot. They were _long_, from the side profile he could see that the hairs were reaching below the redhead's thighs, they were nice and silky and yet, they were also _messy_, though in that cool-ish way that some of Dudley's video game character's hair always are. They looked like they were supposed to be spiky, but the length and mass, together with gravity; had defeated their genetic spikiness.

Harry wondered for a moment if his hair too would become more manageable if grown long, before simply giving up the thought. It was far more likely that they would become even more messy.

The hairs alone would have caught the attention of anyone in the visible range, but it was not even the start of the strangeness surrounding the boy.

He seemed to be wearing a male version of Shrine Maiden outfit, a white shirt with very wide sleeves that was tucked in a red Hakama. Over them was a knee-length, black, sleeveless Haori, his feet were clad in white socks, visible through the gap in the black sandals. It was a very _Japanese _outfit, something Harry did not think he would ever see in Britain, unless of course it was Halloween or Anime Expo; let alone in Surrey.

But the strangest part of the boy was not his clothes or his extremely long hair. It was not his slightly tanned skin, the six whisker-like scars on his cheek, his sharp features or his apathic expression. It was not even the aura of power surrounding him, an aura that not even Dumbledore could match, an aura that made Harry feel that he was so beneath the redhead that he might as well as be on the other side of the planet.

It was those eyes, framed in those narrow sockets. They were _violet_, he would have called them amethyst if not for one simple fact: The eyes were empty, hollow, they had no shine in them, neither of the precious stone with which he compared them to, or of a living being. He had never seen a corpse, but he knew somewhere inside his heart that the boy had the same eyes as them.

Harry shivered and turned his eyes away from the redhead who sat on the other end of the stone chair. It was not strange, or suspicious, Harry reminded himself. There were not many seats in this part of the park and a lot many gossipers have wanted to sit there too in the past hour, the only reason that he was sitting here alone was the fact that everyone thought him to be a troublemaker, a fact that the Dursleys had done their best to spread far and wide, and since the boy did not seem like he was from around here, it would make sense that he would not turn up his nose and walk away sneering, even though Harry knew he looked like he had not bathed in an year and have not heard of a shampoo in his entire life.

There was no doubt about it, the boy was magical. And it was not because of the eccentricity of his appearance that he seemed to share with the entire wizarding population, nor his, or their; utter inability to mingle in with the mundane population, that made him sure of the fact. It was the fact that _no one_ was even looking at the boy, it was as if he did not exist. The exact same way muggles ignored the Leaky Cauldron unless led there by a muggleborn.

Harry gulped as he realized that he was away from his house, the same house which, according to Dumbledore; had his mother's protections. The only thing that was keeping him calm was the fact that the boy was underage, just like him, and should thus be incapable of doing magic, especially in front of so many muggles. Or at least he hoped so.

The boy did not do anything, merely stared at the children playing around with what Harry would have called _a warm gaze_, if his emotions actually reached his eyes that it, and soon Harry too was drowned in his own thoughts about miserable loneliness, completely forgetting about the boy. It would only be lot later that he would realize the fact that such an occurrence should be utterly impossible, especially with his sheer presence.

The boy moved in the edge of Harry's vision and his eyes snapped in the boy's direction to look, the redhead did not do much, he merely had his head resting on the top of the back rest and was looking at the churning clouds overhead.

The redhead sighed and a calm and confident voice leaked out of his mouth. "Have you ever wondered, what it is that you are doing with your life? When you just sit around and suddenly, you wonder 'Why am I even alive?' or 'What is my purpose in life?'"

"Um…" Harry had no idea how to answer such question, he did not try to be philosophical, he was too young for that, and so was the redhead for that matter. He was not surprised that the boy was talking to him, he had not seen anyone who did_ not _want to talk to the bloody boy-who-lived, at least this was better than being stared reverently, or asked to show his scar. He decided to just go for honesty and replied. "…No."

The sky tore open and a blinding flash of light illuminated the surrounding. And just for a moment it seemed as if the redhead lazing around him had two horns on top of his head and nine red tails wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and then at the speed of light the hallucination was gone.

The boy smiled, it was a tired smile that did not suit the face of a thirty-year-old, let alone thirteen.

"I do." He replied, his eyes now closed. "Not always of course, but sometimes when I am just sitting there, on stone benches with _ignorant children_, with someone who watched his own mother die and knows that her murderer is still out there, waiting to come back, and yet still go around and spend their life playing _games_. At such moments, I wonder…what exactly am I doing with my life, wasting my time with such…trash?"

Harry stared at the ground, he did not want to hear this, he wanted to just run away, but he could not. His legs were frozen, his heart was frozen, even his thoughts were frozen as words pierced his entire being like jagged spears made up of ice, ice which spread all around inside of him and snared him.

"It is not your fault you know." Harry flinched as the boy continued. The boy gave a small self-deprecating chuckle which made him cringe. "Believe me, I understand. I too was once the same as you after all. Oh, it is so glorious is it not? That _high_ that ignorance brings you, better than Cocaine, Meth, Heroin, or any other drug you could ever get your hands on, more numbing than any alcohol…that sheer _bliss_ that comes with it, with having no responsibility."

The boy, as Harry reminded himself once again; continued staring in the sky, not even bothering to look at the horrified Harry, though what he was horrified at even he did not know. Or perhaps he did and was merely afraid of acknowledging that fact.

"And to simply go along with the flow, adhering to _their _views and becoming something, you are not. Because it is so much worse, the sheer loneliness. And so, you smile and laugh, even when you are being torn apart from the inside, because it is so much better to be looked down upon as a freak or a demon, so much easy to be a _thing_ attached to the scar, to be no more than story told by parents to children; so much better…than being _nothing_."

_Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop itstopitstopitstopitstopitstopit__**stopit!**_

"Sometimes I miss it, that…blonde haired, blue eyed idiot, and his…carefree smile. But then, I remember the _things _he did, or perhaps I should say, the things he _did not_ do…"

The boy continued, his empty eyes even more dazed, Harry felt that the redhead was not even talking to him anymore, but at him instead. It was cold, both his mind and heart, he hated it, hated what he had been turned into with a few choice words and he hated him, the redhead who walked through the well-built walls of lies that Harry surrounded himself by, just as much as he hated himself, for being weak enough to be torn apart by meagre words.

"But then…_she_ changed it, made sure that I will not make the same mistakes. This time, I remembered. I remembered the ones who raped and killed her, I remembered their faces, their voices, every single one of their words, every strand of their hair, their bloodshot eyes, it was all etched into my brain while I cried, hidden behind the barrier that made me invisible to all those who did not share her blood."

Harry looked, horrified; at the boy, not at the knowledge, but the matter in which it was delivered. The boy's gaze had darkened and yet the smile that was on his face was serene, and his voice was calm, and for a moment he wondered if the redhead was even capable of feeling emotions anymore, or even remembered what it felt like to be sad, or angry; because to him it seemed as if the redhead did not even remember what emotions he had to fake in front of world.

"And I remember it, remember _her._ It was not them who broke me, you know? It was not them who _killed me_. It was her, the women I loved most, and that smile she had on her face before they crushed her head like a watermelon on pavement. It was that smile she had because she knew, without a doubt, that I was _safe_."

Harry's fists were clenched, his teeth were grinding, and he could not breath, _would_ not breath, because he did not want to miss a single word even though he did not want to hear a single word anymore.

"I was no longer ignorant of the cruelties of the world, no longer a…naïve, ignorant child who believed in the best of all. It wasn't all wrong choices and hard places, not anymore. It did not matter if they were innocent, it did not matter if it was all a cycle of hatred. I trained, every single moment of my life since then, not to have revenge, not to kill them, but to utterly annihilate them. And I did.

"I killed them, their family, their friends, their friend's families. I even killed their fucking pets, leaving no one to continue the so-called cycle of hate. And you know…as I stood there…bathed in blood, I wondered…Would she still smile at me?"

A tear leaked off the redhead's eye. Harry could not see it of course; his eyes had been blurry for quite some time. There was a pain at the back of his head, trying to crush his skull from inside and a part of him wondered why he could not just stand up and shout at him, why he couldn't just look at him with horrified eyes and call him _dark_, but the rest of him knew the answer to that.

"She would do the same to you. She is cruel like that: Fate. But for all her…cruelties, I would not trade what I have now for the world…but…but then I see you, and I can watch him inside of you, that idiot who forgave the one who murdered his mother for an empty dream. And I understand, that we are too much of an idiot to learn things in conventional way. Too _blind_, too stubborn to accept that we are and have always been different from them. Too foolish to understand, that by lying to the world in fear of being alone, we are also lying to those few who would accept us for what we are."

The boy stood and then turned towards him. The movement was so sudden after the confusing and heart wrenching one-sided conversation, that he flinched back.

"You disgust me. Harry Potter." The boy said with a sad frown on his face and eyes just as dead as they were before and Harry's eyes widened, fear gripped his heart, but he could not move. Not even when the redhead caressed his cheek, with his hand that was so warm that it was _burning_.

He flinched, or at least he tried to, but with horror he realized that he was leaning in his touch, like an affection starved kitten.

The boy smiled in mirth and then his hand burst into silver flames, they did not burn, merely caressed his cheek warmly. And he spoke in a warm and kind voice, and for some reason his dead eyes looked just a little bit warmer. "But it is not your fault, you simply do not know yet, just like I did not, what to live for."

And then all the flames coalesced on his fingertips, forming what he would one day know to be Kanji for 'Mind'. And then his world exploded in an uncomfortable warmth, he could not breath properly, his nose felt like it was clogged, his mouth felt like it had never been opened.

He felt like his entire body was squeezed through a narrow slimy pathway and then suddenly everything was different, the sudden change in temperature made him cry loudly and then after numerous minutes, his eyes cleared.

Harry's breath hitched as someone looked down at him, there were tears in that person's eyes, and the eyes that looked at him were not emotionless eyes ones of the redhead.

Though this person was a redhead just as well, but she was different. She was sweating, as if exhausted by some great ordeal and the brilliant green eyes framed in her kind face were filled with tears of happiness.

The woman's arms wrapped around his tiny body and Harry's eyes watered.

"Oh, my baby, you're so beautiful."

And at that moment, Harry Potter forget all the words uttered by the mysterious redhead. Forgot the end that awaited him at the end of his recollection. All that filled the heart of Harry Potter at that moment was sheer bliss, of _finally _knowing what it felt to be loved, just for being himself.

And outside his mind, all alone in the park, a folder laid near the passed-out form of Harry Potter, right where the nameless redhead sat. Pages whipped through the wind, repelling water from the harsh downpour that had been going on for a while without the knowledge of the boy, before settling down as the wind died, leaving words gleaming in angry red, printed on the front of the cover.

_Hope: The Worst of All Evils._

XXXX

Harry drew a shuddering breath and closed the folder with a loud snap.

Something burned within him, anger, rage, horror; and a myriad of other emotions that he could not even begin to understand, let alone name. A rather loud snore from Uncle Vernon breached the thin walls and assaulted his eardrums but Harry could not bring himself to care, not after reading exactly what they had almost succeeded in doing.

All it would have needed was for him to believe them, all that was needed was for him to be pushed just a little bit further, just enough for him to hate it, that unnatural power that flowed within him, and he would have become that.

An _Obscurus_.

Harry shivered, though whether it was in fear or anger even he did not know. It was lucky that he had waited till nighttime to read the folder that could shrink and expand with a simple tap on the appropriately labeled 'touch here', because he had no idea what he would have done to the Dursley's if faced with their _attitude_ while his mind was churning with the horrifying knowledge that he read through the pages.

Harry knew that he was not the smartest of the people, so he was not surprised when he did not understand the reasoning behind what the redhead had done, at least not when he had reached his home, covered in enough water to irrigate aunt Petunia's garden for 3 days.

He did not get them all in one fell swoop of course, the first day, in the park; he just saw the day he was born, as he was passed around the room from his father to his grandfather Charlus to his grandmother Dorea and back to his mother as if he was a Quaffle.

After that he unlocked more and more of his memories every time he went to sleep, or at least he hoped so, it had only been two days since them after all.

All his life Harry had been treated like a house elf, and even though he knew that it was not the correct way to treat him he never said or did anything, not because he knew that things could be even worse, and certainly not because he enjoying doing the housework. He did not do anything because truthfully, he did not actually feel that it was wrong, or maybe the better way to say it is that this was _normal_ for him.

Yes, he knew he was being abused, but even the idea of a better life was strange to him; It was like asking a child whether they liked Mint better or Butterscotch when they have not even heard of an ice cream in their whole life, for all they knew, mint could be a synonym for booger and butterscotch for vomit.

But now he knew, now he knew what it meant to be normal, now he knew that he too was loved, that he did not deserve the Dursley's'kindness', as the Dursleys would make him believe, and that had changed him.

With this newfound knowledge about what would have actually happened if they succeeded in '_squashing the magic out of him'_, Harry burned with anger and he knew without a doubt that he would never let them treat him like a slave again.

And he knew that this was all part of the redhead's plan, and truthfully, he could not even hate him for it, even though he obviously messed with Harry's mind. He did not know what the boy had done to him but he knew that he was actually thankful to him, not even the album that Hagrid had given to him could compare to what the boy did, it was almost as if the boy had returned Harry his parents.

Maybe he would talk to Dumbledore, surely the headmaster would not want for him to spend time with people who could do _that _to him, he would much rather live with the Death Eaters, at least they would be hard pressed to explain their innocence if the Boy-who-lived disappeared from their homes, right?

Or maybe he could stay with the Weasleys, like a paying guest. He certainly had the gold and the Headmaster had already transferred his mother's love-shield once from him to the house, he could probably do it again to the Weasleys' house as well, right?

Harry smiled at that idea and went to sleep with hope in his heart, dreaming about his faithful steed Padfoot and chasing after the Dark Stag Prongs throughout the house while his mother watched over them all with a warm smile, unaware of the fact that the decision he had made had caused the blood wards surrounding the place he once thought of as his own home to start deteriorating at an accelerated pace.

XXXX

"So, let me get this straight. You want us to uproot our whole life because someone gave a prophecy that said Harry will defeat Voldemort, during a **fucking **_**job interview**_**?!**" Lily Potter calm voice turned into a roar of rage, directed at Albus Dumbledore. The shout however also got the attention of a baby sleeping in the nearby crib, who started crying.

Lily hurried towards the crib and scooped Harry out, hugging him gently and whispered gentle words in his ear to make him stop crying.

"Lily." Dumbledore started quietly and in a placating manner as Lily glared at him, her emerald eyes shining in anger. "I know what you are thinking. I know that you do not believe in something as unprecise as divination, but this is no longer a matter of whether the prophecy is real or not. Voldemort believes it and is going to do all he can to make sure that it would not come to pass and _that_ is the real problem."

Both the mother and the son, who was no longer crying; stared at Dumbledore with same distrustful green eyes. "And what exactly, does this prophecy says?" Lily asked Dumbledore, her voice was not loud anymore but was just as lethal.

Dumbledore looked at Lily and saw that nothing he could ever say would make her stop from knowing the prophecy. He sighed disappointedly and started speaking the words, even though he knew that it was better if the prophecy stayed with him and him alone. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

Lily stood frozen for a moment before she burst into a hollow laugh, Harry who could not understand much looked at his mother's obvious amusement and giggled too, that sight calmed Lily down more than anything ever could, and it also hardened her resolve.

"This…this pathetic _farce_ is a prophecy? It does not tell anything! It does not say who will win, it does not say how they will win. It does not even have to be Harry! Hell is does not even have to be Voldemort! What the hell is this _power the dark lord knows not?_" Lily questioned while glaring at Dumbledore.

"I believe." Dumbledore started with a warm smile spreading on his face. "That it refers to _Love_ my dear. You see Voldemort has never-"

"Professor." James, who had just sat frozen on the couch without speaking a word till now spoke in cold voice, interrupting the headmaster. "If you think that I am going to let my son _hug _that monster to death or something as asinine, then perhaps the cold wind of Scotland has finally gotten to your head and it is about time you booked a one way trip to a retirement home."

Albus' eyes widened at the hostility and the words that James spoke, Albus thought that he of all would understand. "No! Of course not, what I meant to-"

"And how-" Lily glared at them both while caressing Harry's head lovingly. "-exactly did Voldemort got his hand on the prophecy?"

"Lily, I do not think that the how matters-"

Albus startled as the armchair that he was sitting on turned semi-solid, before he had even realized what had happened, the honey-like substance had covered more than half his body and then it returned back to it's original, solid; state, thus trapping Dumbledore and make him unable to move, he could not even use his wand to undo the transfiguration because it was in his robes and was thus trapped as well.

Albus opened his mouth but a wand was pointed at him before he could even squeak. "Call for Fawkes and he'll be taking away chunks." James said coldly. "My mother never trusted you, I thought it was because she was Black and dark by nature, but these days I finally think I understand why she does so."

"James." Albus implored, feeling utterly powerless. "Please, all I've been trying to do is do what is best for Harry."

"Oh?" Lily spoke coldly. "You mean like, sitting in your castle twiddling your thumbs and twinkling your eyes while Voldemort goes around reducing our world to rubble?"

"I have been doing-"

"Ten years Albus, it has been ten years since Voldemort's first appearance. And you have known him since he was a boy. If _this_ is your _best,_ then I think I'd rather take my son's chance elsewhere." Lily spoke coldly.

"But that, is not what we are discussing right now. Right now, we are discussing your _inability_ to see the death eaters for the monsters that they are. They throw the Unforgivables left and right, cast Fiendfyre in the middle of streets and Apperate away and you have us throw _Stunners_ at them. And here you are now _protecting_ someone who did not turn Voldemort's attention towards us, oh no." Lily's eyes glowed with magic. "They bought Voldemort's attention towards my _baby_, towards my five months old son. And if you think that I am going to allow you to hide their identity, to _protect _them or give them a second chance then you are just as incapable of understanding love as Voldemort."

Albus stared at Lily, pale and sweating. Even more than the action or the wand pointing threateningly at him, it was the words that wounded him and for a moment he wondered if Lily was right, was he really just as incapable of understanding love as Voldemort? Because for all the wrongness of their current action, Albus knew that they were merely doing all they can for the love of their son.

"Lily-"

"Binky." Lily spoke coldly, glaring at him as the nervous house elf appeared at her side. "Break every single bone in Albus's hand."

James' eyes widened for a second before narrowing in acceptance, a frown marring his face. Albus knew that he would get no help there, but even as the elf crushed his left hand, he did not open his mouth. He could not tell the name of the poor man who had came crying to him, begging him to save Lily, telling Albus that he just wanted to give the prophecy to the dark lord in return for the safety of the women he loved beyond all else, not knowing that it would inadvertently endanger her far more.

"I see." Lily spoke with her eyes closed and took a long sad sigh before speaking again. "Binky, destroy Albus' wand."

Albus froze in utter horror and even the house elf who could not go against her mistress froze for a moment, staring nervously at Lily before bringing her finger together to snap and rid him of the Elder Wand.

"Severus…it was Severus who overheard me and gave the prophecy to Voldemort." Albus spoke in a weak and defeated voice, tears streamed down his face, because he had betrayed the trust that the boy displayed in him. He did not even bother to explain the reasoning behind why Severus did it. James hated the boy with a passion, and Lily at least disliked him for joining the Death Eaters, something she thought to be a betrayal to their years of friendship, they would not understand, they will curse and hate him, their love for their son would make them blind to everything else in the world, even to the love of everyone else in the world.

The apoplectic rage on their faces confirmed his thoughts, the only reason they were not shouting or throwing around spells was because little Harry was here.

"You need to hide somewhere." Albus spoke in a tired voice, _finally_ getting to the important part of today's meeting.

"And where-" Lily replied in an emotionless voice, her emotions all pushed behind her Occlumency shields to be vented out someplace else. "-exactly are we supposed to go that Voldemort won't follow?"

James grimaced, the idea of hiding did not suit him at all. "Can't we…just defeat him? A final push or something like that?" James swallowed as Lily looked at him with narrow eyes, daring him to put his Gryffindorish tendencies above the safety of their son. "I mean, hiding and running away is not way to raise a child, you know? I…I just hoped that Harry could live in a peaceful world, free from the Voldemort, not this madness."

"Dada?" All three pair of eyes snapped towards the little boy, who was staring worried at his father's sad expression. Lily burst into laughter and James too burst into happy tears. Even Albus smiled softly at seeing the happy occasion of a child speaking his first words. The fact that the first words were spoken by a worried son for his father only brought warmth in his heart, and he knew in his heart that he was right, the secret power was definitely love, no matter how asinine it truly sounded.

"Fidelius." Spoke Albus, with a tiny smile on his face while young Harry babbled happily at the attention he was receiving. "We are going to hide you under Fidelius."

XXXX

Empty, red eyes, swollen from crying too much stared blankly as the sun rised above the houses of privet drive.

It was 5 A.M. now, meaning that it has been 8 hours since he has been sitting here, staring out of the window.

Three Letters and a clipping from the daily prophet laid near him. A small army of redheads smiled, laughed and waved from the clipping and Harry could feel no warmth at the scene.

Even the broom maintenance kit that Hermione had gifted him had felt hollow and empty.

He had seen the news during dinner yesterday. Seen the familiar but unfamiliar face staring at him, and just for a moment Harry _hoped._

Then he had got the week-old paper clipping with his birthday card. And on the shoulder of Ron was something that had haunted him for more than a few days now.

It was not him. Sirius did not escape from Azkaban for him. He did it for Pettigrew. He did it for the secret keeper that 'no would one think off', he did it for the one who led Voldemort to his home, not that he had seen that far ahead yet.

That meeting with Dumbledore that he saw two weeks ago was the start, after that all the happiness had been leeched out of the memories that should have bought him happiness.

Harry picked up the enchanted folder and flipped through its pages, the words about Hope being the worst of all evils used to make him scoff in disbelief, now he smiled in amusement at the idiot from a week ago. What was even more funny was how similar he was becoming to the boy who gave him this cursed gift. And just like the boy did not blame Fate, he too did not blame the boy. He was still going to punch him in the face hard enough to break his nose though.

The folder was amazing, it held far more than could be seen at first glance. Every page was a different entry, but every _page_ could be scrolled like text on a computer screen, thus a single so-called page could be an entire book.

The second page after the Obscurus was a children's story, about three brothers who met Death. He did not understand why this was important, was it to take his mind off things by reading something light? But then he saw a note pinned at the end of the story, which said that an average Invisibility Cloak only worked for somewhere around 7 years, 10 years at the most extreme. His cloak had been a family heirloom passed down through centuries.

That knowledge bought a sudden suspicion to his mind. If it really was the Cloak of Death™ then how the hell did Dumbledore of all people see him and Ron hidden beneath it, in Hagrid's hut during their second year?

His mind had been distrustful of Dumbledore since that meeting. Actually, calling it distrustful would be like calling the ocean _a little soggy_. The fucking prophecy which explained so much, that motherfucker worm _SNAPE _who he was going to kill slowly and in the most painful way that he could find_, _the knowledge that Dumbledore had been sitting around doing nothing and letting the world go to hell for 11 years.

Then there was the fact that even after Voldemort's disappearance he did nothing, the Death Eaters, a few of whose names he was now even aware of; were going around as _respectable_ citizens of magical Britain and had too much political power. It was bad before when Voldemort was just a new bully in town, now he had a history of brutality, cruel enough that the sheep of the world were terrified of even speaking that idiotic made up name. Then there was the fact that his old crowd was all placed in high governmental position, probably; and thus if, or rather _when_ Voldemort returned, he would be in perfect position to take over everything. If that was not enough, he also had miniature clones of his old death eaters running around, ready to take the dark mark on their forearm, _and_ the insane ones were waiting patiently in Azkaban, turning even more insane than they already were. He did not know what the worst-case scenario was, but the current state of things was most definitely up there somewhere.

The image of kind and grandfatherly Albus Dumbledore was cracked from the start even though he did not want to accept it, the troll that just waltzed through and almost killed a student. A Cerberus hidden behind a door that could be opened by a first-year spell. Someone possessed by Voldemort running around _teaching _students. Then there was the basilisk, someonepossessed by Voldemort, _again_; and let's not even forget Lockhart. It was good that Lockhart took himself out at the start of the tunnel or Harry was sure that together with basilisk he would have finally done what even Voldemort could not do and finish him off.

His eye returned back towards the newspaper clipping. With his mind full of suspicions in everything it did not take him long to arrive at the conclusion that the _lottery_ had been a lie, it was probably just a way for Dumbledore to make the Weasleys, especially Ginny; forget that such an evil object was smuggled in the school by an eleven year old girl.

So, with all these suspicious situations, it would not be too much to assume that Dumbledore had put some tracking charms or something on his cloak, it would actually make a lot of sense to do so since apparently, not even Death could see through the invisibility.

The third chapter was Occlumency and Legilimency, and before his mind could drift towards Dumbledore's twinkly eyes, again; he continued turning the pages.

Grindelwald, the worst Dark Lord of the century with his silver tongue, cunning and charisma.

Voldemort, the worst Dark Lord of the century, of Britain; with his rambling insanity…and, that was it actually.

Hundred and One ways to deal with the Unforgivables, featuring: The Human Shield.

Unbreakable Vows and Magical Contracts; and the idiots who forgot to clean the Blood Quill.

And so on the list went. What was even more interesting than the articles however were the annotations and comments that were _probably_ from the redhead.

And on the end of the folder, at the last page, at the back of an article _'Accidental? -Pfft…yeah, right- Magic'_ were the words that for some reason had shook him the most.

_Consciousness may be the force that propels strength, but emotions take that strength one step further._

As he let go of the shackles, once again; and let the anger and hate seep out, he could feel his magic, bubbling right beneath his skin, waiting to be unleashed, waiting for just one simple mental command. All his life he had gone around trying to be _normal_, but no longer. He did not care about being normal anymore.

The redhead was right. What the hell had he been doing the last two years? The monster who murdered his parents was alive and Harry had been playing quidditch and worrying about birthday cards and pumpkin pastries like an idiot. His parents died for him, even ignoring the slippery path of vengeance, he did not, even for a single moment; thought about having his parent's murderers punished, to at least be sent in jail instead of going around and having a nice job at ministry.

Snape. Voldemort. Pettigrew. Even Sirius, who cared more for revenge than taking care of his godson and thus betrayed his parent's trust; especially since Sirius was the one who decided that it would be a good idea to change the secret keeper because it was _'too fucking obvious'_. All the death eaters. Lucius Malfoy was right there, in front of him about to kill him just like Voldemort killed his parents and so many others, and all that Harry had done was stare at him like an idiot while Dobby defended him.

He was pathetic. He did not even try to fight those who thought themselves better than him. His parents died for him, and he returned the favor by acting like a bloody house elf.

No more.

Once, he used to think that he deserved it, but not anymore. Not for himself, but for his parents who loved him strongly enough to die for him, for them he would never kneel, never cower, he would be strong, he would be smart, he would make them proud of him and when one day when he finally saw them again…that day he will show them that he did not let their sacrifice go in vain.

But until then…

"BOY! GET HERE, MARGE IS ABOUT TO COME!"

Fuck the Hogsmead permission form, he had the Cloak of Death, he would dare to see anyone try to stop him with that; but he would _die_ before he let that whale speak one derogatory remark about his parents. And he certainly was not planning on dying till he had lived every moment that his parents had bought him at the expense of their lives, to its fullest.

XXXX

Obviously, it did not take long for Marge the Whale to get on his nerves. Surprisingly, he was able to completely ignore her for four whole days, or maybe not so surprising considering that the things were much more interesting on the television, and his _dreams_. He had actually passed most of the fourth day and there were only three more left before Marge left.

And then, she went _there_.

"It's one of the basic rules of breeding." she said. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch-"

The glass of wine in her hand exploded. Harry could not see the white faces of anyone in the room. He did not know how his eyes glowed like green fire, how his skin paled and his hair wreathed in the air like tendrils of darkness. He did not know that _everything_ in the room was floating a foot above the ground, including him.

Harry was strong, he knew that; even if he went around trying to be normal, he was still different. Even Neville Longbottom who was only able to display accidental magic after being thrown out of third story window of his home by his abusive uncle, was strong; he only had a problem with confidence. So, a boy who could Apparate at the age of 8 while trying to be _normal_ spoke of how much powerful he was actually supposed to be.

Sadly however, his magic wasatrophied, by forcing down the _freakishness_ as much as he could, being starved and spending ten miserable years going around and downplaying his abilities when he should have been embracing them instead had left him weak and pathetic. Then came a manipulative redheaded demon who simply cleaned all the _clogged_ _pipes_ in Harry's body, through which his magic had flowed, not that Harry knew anything about it.

When he had read those words about _emotions,_ he had taken them to heart, because nothing that was in that folder was wrong. And he could feel it, as he let go of his control over emotions; how his magic surged out of his body, ready to do his bidding.

He however did not understand the true meaning of the words, which was not surprising since he was in the end, just a thirteen-year-old child.

The words are not meant to make you drown in your emotions and become a rampaging berserker. They are meant to say that emotions are supposed to fuel your action instead of hindering them. That you should not bury them behind your occlumency shield, but you should also not let them carry you around.

Consciousness may be the force that propels strength, but it is emotion that takes the strength one step higher.

And at this very moment, there was no consciousness, only pure rage at the _insect _that dared to badmouth his mother in front of him.

In the middle of that storm, for a moment everything was calm. And then Vernon Dursley's pale face turned puce with rage.

He stood, hand banging on the table.

And that was Vernon Dursley's Big Mistake.

A sickening crunch finally broke Harry's haze of emotions and he saw the fat walrus half buried into the wall, blood and flesh was dripping and bones were jutting out of everywhere.

Harry stumbled back in horror of what he had done, horror that grew even more as he realized that he was now going to be expelled from Hogwarts, or even worse, have his memories of magic obliviated and then be stuck with the Dursleys _forever_.

He did not think, he could not think. As the three remaining Dursleys sat frozen he ran upstairs. He did not waste time, his emotions were at the edge of his skin and leaking and he was already in deep shit anyway, he waved his hand over the room and let the desire flood him.

The hidden board flew up and everything important, which was not much, only the homework, the photo album, and a few letters along Hedwig's cage, flew to his waiting arm. The folder was always in his pocket, shrunk to the size of matchbox.

Next moment the door to cupboard under the stairs fell out, its hinges rotting right in front of his eyes as the trunk and everything else flew out, shrinking themselves on their own and crawling inside his pockets without even his input, as if they were critters.

He opened Hedwig's cage and she flew out, smart enough to know that there was no time to talk, she was going to find him later, and the cage shrunk too and went in his pocket.

His wand slammed into his palm, and a warmth burst into him right at the same moment as Petunia's shrill scream woke up the entire neighborhood.

Harry took one step, desperation, determination and destination flooding his brain and with a crack he was standing in front of the park where he had met the redhead.

Harry swayed, reeling at the knowledge of what he had done. Was Accidental Magic really supposed to be this powerful? The folder did say that Accidental Magic was what real magic was supposed to be like, no fancy spells, shouting gibberish or idiotic wand-waving, simple desires mixed in with emotion to achieve your wishes.

Next moment his wand was up in air and a bang made the sweltering haze of summer shiver. As the Knight Bus, something he had read about in another article from the folder, called '_Idiotic means of transportation'_ appeared, Harry decided: If he was able to survive this shitfest and ever met that redhead again, he was going to strangle him with his hair, kick him in the balls and then give him a hug.

Seriously, if this was how powerful anger made magic, then what the hell would happen when he fueled his magic with _Love?_

XXXX

Harry stared incredulously at the Minister of Magic, unable to believe that this was the same guy who threw Hagrid in Azkaban because he wanted to be 'seen doing something'.

"You are serious? I am in no trouble? At all?"

"Of course, my boy." Fudge laughed heartedly. "I mean, accidental magic happens all the time, that is why it is called _accidental _magic. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I killed my uncle." Harry spoke numbly, without even realizing it.

"Actually, you only broke almost every bone in his body. Nothing to be worried about but…" Fudge fiddled with his bowler hat nervously. "See, we kind of…Obliviated the exact memory of the event from the brains of everyone involved."

Harry stared at the man with his mouth hanging open.

"He was a very unpleasant man." Fudge defended himself, not realizing that Harry was amazed and not horrified at his stroke of good luck. "The Obliviators saw how the Dursleys treated you and when they told me, I was appalled. Dumbledore told us that you were being taken care of by a loving family. Hell, we wouldn't have even known where you lived if not for the trace."

"Yeah." He was horrified with what he had almost done, but he was also really disappointed because Vernon survived, _and_ he was relieved because he did not want the blood of that tub of lard on his hand, He was really confused and as such he replied absentmindedly. "Imagine if they pushed me enough to turn me into an Obscurus."

Fudge flinched back as if stuck, his face pale and horrified as if Harry had spoken the Dark Lord's name.

"My goodness! That would be horrible. To treat a child bad enough that they would suppress their own magic? What the hell was Dumbledore thinking?" Fudge muttered the last part to himself with furious expression on his face.

Harry stared at the man, his mind running miles in seconds. He of course knew, or at least suspected that the real reason they were not throwing him out was because Sirius Black was at large, and they probably thought that as 'right hand of Voldemort', or something as stupid, he would be after Harry for vengeance.

But this was good, oh no this was fucking awesome.

Now he can stay in leaky cauldron for the rest of the time before Hogwarts. And he did not even have to worry about not doing magic.

The minister had just, unknowingly; told him how trace worked. No Obliviators had ever come to memory charm Dudley's gang or his elementary school teacher whose hair he turned blue. And the ministry just admitted that they did not know where he lived until the trace picked him up, probably last year. Which would mean something changed after he turned eleven. So, either they placed some kind of magical marker on him or on his wand came with one. The marker will probably deteriorate by the time he turned seventeen and notify them when magic is cast in its vicinity. But it did not tell exactly who casted the magic, that is why Dobby could get him in trouble with ministry, because the ministry could not tell that it was a house elf and not him who cast the magic. This was probably only done so that cases of accidental magic could also be monitored instead of just wand usage and Obliviators could take care of things. That means if he was in the presence of an elder magical, or even better; a place like Leaky Cauldron, he could cast as much magic as possible, that is of course, if he was careful enough to keep the usage hidden from public eyes.

XXXX

Harry knew what was coming, of course he did, but there was still _some_ hope in his heart that the days would continue.

Yes, things were bleak, his parents were becoming thinner by day because even going out of the house to buy vegetables was risky, but even their weak smile lit up his entire week.

People were dying left and right, his Grandparents Charlus and Dorea were killed not long ago too, probably to torture Harry's location out of them, but Voldemort was only able to find out that they were hidden under Fidelius, and that too because of Legilimency and not because his grandparents broke down, not even under the Cruciatus, or at least that is what Dumbledore said that his spy: Snape; had told him.

Watching his father breaking down from his loud boisterous behavior and becoming serious and brooding while his mother became tired and lost the shine in her beautiful eyes as day by day more and more people died while they hid around doing nothing was crushing.

But he could not bring himself to care. Yes, it was all very horrible, and he was sorry, but every moment Death Eaters went around killing other people, was one more moment that he could get to spend with his family.

His mother was doing something secretively, hidden from his father, probably because it was supposed to be dark and for all the _growing up_ that his father had done, he still had a few childish believes.

It was in his own room, he used to just stand in his crib and watch as his mother carved runes upon runes on the floor with her own blood and sew even more runes on the bottom of the carpet, with her beautiful red hairs; which hid the rune covered floor.

It hurt him, to watch her pale and weak. Crushed him to see them worry about food and other such necessities. It made him angry to see his happy family brought down low to _this_, because of one mad man.

But none of that anger and hopelessness could compare to this.

"Lily take Harry and go! It is him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off…"

Tears leaked out of his eyes and he could not even see the back of his father one last time because of the curtain of red hairs that covered him.

His mother ran upstairs, and gasped as the door blasted open downstairs, words left the mouth from a familiar silky voice and something in Harry broke as he heard his father's body collapse.

"Dada." Harry cried, Lily blinked her tears away at his voice and focused on what was important.

James had told them to run but there was no running anywhere, anti-apparition and portkey wards were set up the moment Voldemort took a step in their home, the house was never connected to Floo network for security purpose.

With a flick of her wand every single lock that she could ever think of was placed on the door.

She stared at the teary eyes of her son and smiled, Harry cried harder.

"Shh…my baby, it's okay." A sniff left her as the door shuddered. She hugged her son harder, all composure collapsing in the face of fear.

"Mama." Harry cried, his eyes blurry from tears.

"It's okay baby. You do not have to be afraid. Harry, you are so loved. Mama loves you. Dada loves you. Harry, be safe. Be strong. The others will be there for you. Alice. Sirius..."

Lily looked with hollow eyes, standing on the carpet, facing away from the door and staring in the direction of her son and yet her blank eyes were unfocused.

"No…they won't." She whispered, whether to herself or someone else, no one knew. "Sirius is brash, he would chase after Pettigrew. Alice will be targeted for Neville. And Albus…he will not do anything."

Lily gazed at her son, and something broke inside of her. Her leg shifted the carpet aside and with one flick of her wand, runes shifted. The transfiguration would not hold for long, but long was something they did not have anyway.

The carpet was back in place and she turned back.

She hugged her baby and smiled. A shuddering breath left her lips and she sniffed. "It's okay baby. You don't need to worry anymore."

She lovingly caressed his cheek and he leaned in her touch. "No one will hurt you, my son, no one will use you. Not Voldemort with his insanity, Not Snape with his thoughtlessness, Not Dumbledore with his manipulations and his passiveness, not Sirius with his brashness."

Lily smiled and kissed Harry's forehead. "Its okay, baby. We will always be together. I will always protect you, no matter what."

The door blasted open and Lily turned.

And then Harry watched with numb mind as his mother _defeated_ the dark lord Voldemort.

"…Not Harry, please…take my instead, kill me instead…"

They stood above the carpet, above the runic symbols that he could not ever hope to understand, but he did, because his mother had a habit of talking to him when she was carving them on the floor, to take her mind off things.

The carpet was just a privacy ward, it hid anything that happened beneath it, thus not letting Voldemort sense the runes charged with power thrumming beneath his feet.

The blood wards however were different, there were many and with so many purposes that he did not even understand.

There were some to hide the light show that generated when unbreakable vows were made, few to bypass the need for the witness, few to bypass the need to hold hands and a few more for who knows what else.

And then with an annoyed huff Voldemort turned his wand towards his mother. "Very well. Avada Kedavra." And sealed his fate.

Harry stared as his mother collapsed, unaware as Voldemort walked towards him. He stared at her beautiful pale and bony skin as the snake faced monster said something to him. He stared at her beautiful red hairs, sprawled all around as Voldemort turned his wand towards him.

"Avada Kedavra!" The green bolt of lightening that also looked like liquid fire left the tip of the monster's wand.

It was a funny thing, the Unbreakable Vow, especially in the fact that they were not in fact, Unbreakable at all. Anyone can easily break them, it was only that the price attached with breaking the vow that caused them to be named as such.

Voldemort was dead, his own magic annihilated his entire body in an explosion the moment he went back towards to vow he had taken and turned his wand against the one he promised not to harm.

His body was ash before the green curse even flew half the distance.

Harry stared as the 3rd Tier, Soul Magic: Soul Ripper, or otherwise known as the Killing Curse in the human circles, hit his chest and did absolutely _nothing_.

Next second the backlash from breaking the unbreakable vow, combined with the vow's inability to completely destroy Voldemort tore the room in an explosion.

A piece of flying debris hit Harry on the forehead carving a jagged scar in the shape of lightening.

Another moment later black smoke screamed and shot out of Voldemort's smoking robes flying out of the room towards the forest of Albania.

One small bit of the screaming black darkness however, shot towards the strongest magical _object_ in the room to attach itself to it.

Harry Potter screamed as something dark and disgusting _crawled_ in the newly opened opening in his body and burned his skull like acid.

"M…Master?"

A man he has seen many times before, stared in horror at the smoking robes, holding the wand that once belonged to its master.

The weak and terrified rat stared at the boy, holding his master's wand towards him, the curse on his lips. His eyes traveled back towards the smoking robes and he faltered and swallowed in terror of the same happening to him.

Loud noise from downstairs made the rat's face contort in terror and with a last look towards the smoking robes and the scarred child he turned in a rat and scurried away.

Harry Potter stared, with eyes just as dead as _him_ and just as dead as _her_, two redheads who had built him up only to break him into smithereens; as a very young Severus Snape collapsed near the door and wailed.

XXXX

Now that he stopped for a moment to think about it, it was obvious from the start that something was very wrong with him.

At first Harry had felt that the responsiveness of his magic was just because he was no longer trying to conform to the _expected _behavior that the world had of him and was letting his emotions rule him.

He had felt the sheer volatility of his magic when he touched his wand for the first time after _that_ day, but it was only now that he felt the true difference, not in the magic but in himself.

Harry laid on the bed, blank, _dead_ eyes surrounded by red skin and dried tear tracks stared at the roof of his room in leaky cauldron. It was eleven in the morning, and he had been in this same position for five hours already.

He could still feel it, his magic thrumming and bubbling right beneath his skin, waiting to be unleashed on the world. What was different however was that he could not feel anything except for an empty ache in his heart, no rage, no sorrow, not any other emotion; just simple emptiness.

He did not understand why this was, and truthfully, he did not even care, at least not right now.

The room was bathed in silence, he had felt annoyed by the sounds a few hours ago and the next moment every sound in the room had stopped. It was at that moment that he realized that yes, although emotions helped it was not that which had caused his magic to become like this.

The obvious conclusion was that the redhead had did something to him, perhaps some dark ritual or something. Right now, he was merely laying down trying to think of reasons to hate him and be angry at him, he was failing spectacularly.

He knew with certainty that he would meet the redhead whose name he did not even know, he did not know how many months or years or maybe even decades it will take but he will meet him and not because Harry wanted to find that boy.

His mind which had been through a lot these last few weeks was…buzzing, it was as if his brain, which had done nothing but laze around during the last few years, had finally been utilized and like muscles which developed the more you used them, his brain too was now operating at higher levels.

Thus, this faster brain of his, which was also attuned to a darker outlook due to last night's memory session, and was thus only seeing the evil and dark manipulations in every action or every person, was easily able to reach the conclusion that the redhead only helped him because he was getting something out of Harry. After all, _If it is free, then you are the product._

And that was the only thing he could think that made him wary of the redhead and considering the fact that everyone had only used Harry for something his entire life, it was not like this was something new.

Hell, this time the one who was using him actually wanted him to be strong and knowledgeable instead of an ignorant idiot dancing to their tunes. And there went the one thing he wanted to hate the redhead for.

There was so much that was confusing him, last night's memories alone were like a swamp of memories and he could barely waddle through them.

Few moments after Snape, Sirius' shout echoed though the house, a shout that had broken down and became an anguished wail at seeing James' corpse. It took a while for him to get upstairs, long enough for Snape to take one last look at Lily, completely ignore Harry as if he was not even there, cast a silencing ward and disapparate with a muffled crack.

Sirius just stared with broken eyes and while drowning in despair he just kept repeating the words _I killed them_ over and over again. He took Harry and walked downstairs only to be met by Hagrid who was crying near James' body.

Hagrid had asked Sirius to hand him over because apparently Dumbledore ordered to have him placed with Petunia, and instead of fighting over being put there with magic hating muggles, Sirius had just given him over and told Hagrid to take his flying bike.

The reason became obvious a moment later as Sirius muttered 'Animagus Revelio' and disapparated with a loud crack after his face contorted in rage.

Of course, Harry had not even noticed most of it happening, and instead stared at his dead parents, at least not at that time.

Apparently, all the _unlocked_ memories were accessible to him now, he just had to think it and he could see the events again and again.

It was exactly because of this that Harry noticed that dark wraith of Voldemort, similar to the ink from the diary; leaving his body _and _part of it entering his scar.

He did not understand, neither did he want to understand what exactly that thing was, the only thing he knew was that he wanted it out of him.

He also did not know what his mother's last words meant. If he had died then he would have understood, he would have been together with his parents and truthfully, he was more than happy to just point his wand at himself and fire the killing curse to be with them once again. But he did not die, he was alive, and his mother was not with him, and he did not understand why.

Was it because of the prophecy? Did _Fate_ not want him to die, because she knew that Voldemort was not as dead as most believe him to be? Or was there something special about him that made him immune to Killing Curse?

It did not matter, in both the cases he was not going to die, not until Voldemort was gone at any rate. And he was not going to off himself till the monster was dead anyway, so that made it a moot point.

Harry sighed tiredly and got up, he had people to kill and he was not nearly as strong enough to be able to do it right now, even with his more responsive magic. He had already seen the difference that knowledge made, perhaps it was about time to spend that boatload of gold that was lying around in his vault for something useful and books seemed like a good place to start. He also had to find out why exactly Voldemort did not die that night and how to undo this protection.

XXXX

**Well, that was tiring.**

**Now, I am sure that you have a lot of questions so let me start by getting a few of them out of the way.**

**I really hope that I do not have to tell you exactly who the redheaded male is. Also, let me put worry out of your mind and say that it will**_** not**_** be decades before Harry meets him again.**

**The magic in this world is going to follow rules and regulations, quite unlike Rowling's world of magic.**

**Harry is going to become strong and badass, **_**step by step**_**. He will not suddenly be launching fireballs and lightening storms with his bare hands, but he definitely will not be that pathetic weakling he was in canon. **

**Also, the accidental apparition was a one-time thing, most of Harry's current abilities are cantrips compared to **_**real**_** magic. So do not even think that Harry is becoming too strong, in this fic, there is no such thing as too strong.**

**Harry **_**is **_**going to become Godly but let me share just one bit of trivia; in my fic, Godly is going to be a level shared by **_**hundreds**_**, maybe even more. And there are going to be half a dozen who can erase those hundreds with a **_**snap of their finger**_**.**


End file.
